THE DYING SWAN. 1. THE plain was grassy, wild and bare, An under-roof of doleful gray. And loudly did lament. It was the middle of the day. Ever the weary wind went on, And took the reed-tops as it went. 2. Some blue peaks in the distance rose, One willow over the river wept, And shook the wave as the wind did sigh; Above in the wind was the swallow, Chasing itself at its own wild will, And far thro' the marish green and still Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow. 3. The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear; Flow'd forth on a carol free and bold; As when a mighty people rejoice With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold, And the tumult of their acclaim is roll'd Thro' the open gates of the city afar, To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star. A DIRGE. 1. Now is done thy long day's work ; Shadows of the silver birk Sweep the green that folds thy grave. 2. Thee nor carketh care nor slander; Let them rave. Light and shadow ever wander O'er the green that folds thy grave. E 3. Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed 1; Thou wilt never raise thine head 4. Crocodiles wept tears for thee; Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear. Rain makes music in the tree O'er the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. 5. Round thee blow, self-pleached deep, Let them rave. These in every shower creep Thro' the green that folds thy grave, Let them rave. 6. The gold-eyed kingcups fine; Kings have no such couch as thine, 7. Wild words wander here and there; God's great gift of speech abused Makes thy memory confused: But let them rave. The balm-cricket carols clear In the green that folds thy grave. |